THERE
is a rhythm of poetry, and there is a rhythm of people.
And these two rhythms are similar in their charm and
power.

By a rhythm of people I do not
mean any magnetic or magic influence generated in congregations
of individuals, but rather the rhythm peculiar to each
individual. In this sense rhythm is an attribute of
personality, and is manifested through the person in
motion and speech. Observe your friends and notice the
rhythm peculiar to each; how one is slow and another
quick, one deliberate and another hurried, one jerky
and another graceful. I almost fancy, indeed, that you
might find one was iambic and another trochaic in essential
rhythm. Can you not think of the [Page 183]
ponderous character that moves step after step,
word after word, with the emphasis always delayed until
the second thought, the second look, the second movement,
the second words? Dons and dowagers and policemen are
always iambic in their rhythm. Recall the rhythm of
blank verse, the most common iambic measure in English,
in the lines:

“So
all day long the noise of battled rolled
Among the mountains by the winter sea,”

and
you will perceive at once how settled and prosperous
and conservative it is, quite aristocratic and assured.
On the other hand, to quote again from Tennyson, there
is the line of excellent trochees:

“In
the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to
thoughts of love.”

How
different from the iambics! How sprightly, tripping,
gay, and emotional! The rhythm of a soubrette rather
than a savant. Then, again, there is the slow, uncertain,
meandering [Page 184] rhythm of some
large people who move like a hexameter:

“This
is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the
hemlocks.”

Undecided
people are usually of this dactyllic measure; and it
is a very dangerous one to handle.

Again,
persons are like poems in this, that it is possible
to have a bad rhythm, though every rhythm is good in
itself. We may, however, destroy our rhythm or nullify
its effect by misuse. If we are naturally iambic, we
must be careful how we break into troches; and, if we
are trochaic, we must beware of lapsing into iambics.
The result of a bad use of rhythms is always ludicrous.
The strut of a bantam and the skip of an archbishop
are incongruous, and, therefore, to be employed with
discrimination. And with this provision any rhythm may
be used at will with expressional power. The prime rule
in the poetry of man is this: Stick to your [Page
185] own rhythm. And remember you cannot help
using your own natural rhythm so long as you are simple
and sincere. The moment you begin to pose, you will
unconsciously use another rhythm, not your own; and
every one will know it. Do not imagine for a moment
that you can appear to be what you are not. You are
betrayed in every gesture. Every syllable “gives
you away.” Occasionally a great genius may play
a part which is not his own by nature; but in that case
he passes by imagination into the new character, and
actually is the person he plays. This is the genius
of the actor, and it is the lack of just this power
that is so apparent in the mediocre player.

To
live according to one’s rhythm is the law of common
sense and common honesty. It is the first requisite
of sanity, too. And it is one of the greatest evils
of modern life that it tends to throw us out of rhythm.
We are nearly all hurried to a point of hysteria. It
is not so much that we have more than [Page
186] we can do, as that we allow the haste
to get on our nerves. Without being aware of it in the
least, we become distraught, inefficient, and flighty,
simply through the hurry in which we live. You may deny
it as you please, but noise and haste are maddening.
Watch the average business man, fluttering about like
an agitated hen. He is divorced from his natural, legitimate
power, for he has lost his own rhythm. He does everything
too quickly, and he does nothing well. If he would only
take time to breathe and smile and hold up his chest,
he would accomplish much more, and save his soul alive
at the same time. To be in a hurry is sometimes necessary.
In that case, you must be prepared with the natural
celerity of lightning, prompt but poised. It is never
necessary to scurry. And in order to maintain this deliberation,
of course, we must never let events tread on our heels.
We must never dawdle, never allow our rhythm to run
more slowly than is natural. That is equally a fault.
But, if [Page 187] we always do things
that are becoming to our personality in the rhythm that
is our true expression, neither breathless nor lagging,
we shall accomplish more than we dreamed and we shall
always have time to spare. We have all the time there
is; and in that time everything can be done that ought
to be done. It is merely a matter of balance, of adjustment,
of rhythm, of keeping the soul at poise amid the forces
of circumstance and will. If we miss that fine poise,
we suffer, we feel the deterioration that comes of ineffectual
effort, we have wasted our power, we have depleted our
fund of inertia and initiative impulse, we have hindered
the delicate rhythm of personality.

Does
this seem fantastic and far-fetched? It is not really
so. Perhaps it is a matter that will not bear discussion.
It will bear experiment, however. If you do not believe
in a personal rhythm, it is only because you have never
thought of it in so many words. If you consider it for
a moment in the light of [Page 188] your
own experience, you will be convinced of its truth and
power.

There
is in poetry a certain influence or power quite apart
from its logical meaning. There resides in the lines
a subtle force not given to prose. This is the genius
of the measure making itself felt. In the same way our
personality makes itself felt in all we do, through
the influence of our peculiar rhythm. And we shall be
wise to cultivate our own proper and peculiar measure
of speech and movement. For there is surely a power
given to each one of us, call it what you will, that
is not expended in word or act, but exerts itself in
the unconscious time of speech, in the unconscious time
of our deeds. And just as the measure of verse influences
the hearer and serves to carry an impression from the
poet, so our own rhythm affects all who come into contact
with us in life. It is a form of power about which a
materialistic age knows little, and therefore one the
more to be cultivated and preserved. [Page 189]